May 2011
215 posts
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I know you’re not supposed to lie
But I don’t see any reason to stop
My pants have never caught on fire
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you look out into crowds of people
maybe at another strip mall
that used to be a green field
and you feel separate, detached
like you don’t belong here
with these people and their small lives and hearts
you’re bigger
you’ve got mountains in your eyes
you’re unique—the truest of them all
clutch the radio’s words in your hands
a solace—don’t...
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lazysolution:
what i want is the sweet taste of fig on my tongue right now, a book and a hill to fall asleep on
“To me, at least in retrospect, the really interesting question is why dullness...”
– David Foster Wallace, The Pale King
Life incites a special kind of madness.
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“Simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started is no reason for...”
– Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
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Another gray day—not the weather, me. Sometimes I feel as if I have my own personal rain cloud hovering over my head at all times, an unconscious mechanism that spurs me to inspect, dissect, anything and anyone I love for flaws. And once these flaws are found (because they surely exist somewhere) I feel satisfied in a twisted way, like I’ve proved to myself that loving anything is...
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Lately, it seems I’m writing a lot more and listening to those around me a whole lot less. Could this be considered progress?
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She sighed, watching the girls around her, their eyes fixed intently on the screen. They were watching a romance film, and although it kept the other girls transfixed she couldn’t help but think, Falling in love doesn’t seem like an awfully big adventure.
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on being lonely and circuses
every few years, the circus comes to her town. it’s the biggest event of the year, not much happens in small town usa, nineteen fifty-nine besides it. one evening, she walked into town, bedraggled, and watched a boy care for the elephants and an old man apply pasty makeup. she carried a small carpetbag in hand containing two shirts, one pair of pants, her toothbrush, and three nancy drew...
It’s a struggle, but I find a way to wrestle my voice out of the hands of all the people trying to force their words down my throat.
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I’m trying to look at details, to see things for what they are rather than through the lens of my insane mind. It’s not working out very well, though; my brain never does keep out of my business.
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Let me hold onto this day; where the sun shone, but not too brightly, and I read a novel that made the world seem wider than my line of sight would allow, and I ate raspberries bursting with flavor, and I, for once, felt content with myself.
“It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face...”
– J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
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There is a drunk girl outside my window, crying, saying “It’s not fair.” I wonder what has happened to her. Perhaps nothing at all.
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It’s nights like these where I stare out the window and wish there was more to me. I sit in bed and listen to the ancient ceiling fan creak slightly as it makes its rounds and the sounds of my sisters watching TV in the next bedroom over. And I feel so tragically inadequate. It’s as if I’m a clothesline, swinging limply, just a placeholder in a world that occupies great people...
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Where’s my unforgettable journey of self discovery? My coming-of-age epic?
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“After being conditioned as a child to lovely never-never lands of magic, of...”
– Sylvia Plath
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I’m scared that I’ll never be satisfied. Always wanting everything, and never having that, or always wanting nothing, and never having that, either.
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In search of something tangible
I want to build something with my bare hands, something out of wood, like a house. Something real, that exposes itself in front of my eyes, that I can touch. So I can look at it, and know, I created this, and this is a useful creation… So unlike something written, which, although created through the use of one’s hands, does not change the weight of anything at all.
I had…hoped…
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I don’t believe in angels, I don’t believe in saving, it’s Saturday night and I’m alone now and it seems that I will be for the rest of my life whenever I want not to be. But you can’t magick a person up to be with you for the random intervals that you want someone, you have to want them for the rest of the time, too. I suppose I’d rather be lonely once in a...
“How we need that security! How we need another soul to cling to, another body to...”
– Sylvia Plath
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Life is our painting
An abstract canvas
That never dries
We make many additions
Throughout the years
Until the paint bleeds through
Until it smears
Ugly but felt
Our ‘masterpiece’
Our ‘greatest failure’
(Take your pick)
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If you like your own work
And think you could be something great
You’re doing it wrong
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An open acknowledgment to a tree
Stiff tree,
Perhaps you are lonely
Perhaps you are dead
Perhaps you wish you were sleeping
But find yourself wandering instead
Stiff tree,
Perhaps you are quiet and subdued
But wish you were loose and wild
(I could teach you a thing or two
About wishing)
After Your Death, Natasha Trethewey
poetry365:
First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised rom your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or—like another I plucked and split open—being taken rom the inside: a swarm of...
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You don’t realize how boring some people are until you see their blog.
sinnersbones-deactivated2012100 asked: You are one hell of a writer. - xoxo.
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Sometimes, inspiration finds you. You don’t see it coming in the distance. Perhaps you didn’t even want it to come at all. You weren’t expecting it, not at this hour. Regardless, it slams into you so roughly you’re knocked to the ground. You don’t move to get up, you just sit there, swearing, until you grudgingly pull out your phone and type something quickly into...
“Friendship is thicker than blood.”
– Rent
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You’re young.
Sail on wild ocean,
Naked and needless.
Kiss hard.
Embrace cultures.
Act brilliant, or at least look it.
Drink coffee.
Never think or say ‘yesterday’.
Bleed champagne.
Explore men,
Women too.
Smoke occasionally.
Trust yourself.
Sometimes, trust other people.
You are free as fire.
Burn.
adoenamedjane asked: Thanks for following back, I didn't expect that. Your writing is gorgeous!
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to grow a heart
it takes years. sometimes,
they’re deformed.
undersized, over-sized;
common occurrences.
i’ve only met one person
with a heart perfectly grown,
cultivated, even.
she was an old woman
who lived by a creek
in a mansion with broken windows.
and every morning and night,
she fed the birds.
